


The Letters

by Alizarin Tea (TeaCupsandUmbrellas)



Series: The Marauders of Hogwarts [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-11
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28012767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeaCupsandUmbrellas/pseuds/Alizarin%20Tea
Summary: On every young witch and wizard's eleventh birthday - an owl comes.
Series: The Marauders of Hogwarts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2051790
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	The Letters

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! I have not written fanfiction in a very long time (four years!!) so please be kind. I'm hoping this can be part of a larger series. Enjoy!

November 3rd, 1970

Sirius Black was awoken by the sunlight.

He hated when the house-elves did that - drew his curtains before the dawn. He hated waking up and dressing in trousers and a crisp shirt. He wished he could lay in bed all day, maybe wander around London for a while. Or go to the park with Reggie.

The boy didn’t move for a while, choosing instead to look up at the ceiling. He was 11 years old today. He would be getting his Hogwarts letter via owl. In less than a year, he would be on a train and going to Hogwarts with his cousins.

He wished he could have gotten the letter before now - he was 11, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he already be in Hogwarts this year?

Apparently not. Apparently, he would have to wait another year - another year in this big boring house. Sirius kicked off the covers and got out of bed. He dressed in the clothes laid out for him by Poppy but choosing to leave everything messy. A partially untucked shirt; untied shoelaces; messy tie. The only he gave thought to was his thick, black hair, which he combed through. It was the one thing he refused to leave messy, his hair.

With a quick grin in the mirror, Sirius left his bedroom and found himself in a long, dark hallway. He could hear his mother’s screeching voice - probably his name, but it was too distant to make out actual words. Dragging his feet, Sirius headed for the dining hall.

“Oh, good morning, Sir’us,” a soft voice said from the staircase. A moment later, a smaller boy stepped into the hall. He was nine, had problems with his R’s, and looked the spitting image of a Black.

“Reg,” Sirius ruffled his brother’s hair, wincing as he heard the pitch of their mother’s voice rise into the hall. “Morning. Is she already upset?”

“One of the house-elves dropped a teapot,” Regulus explained, grimacing. Sirius frowned - that was never good. He wondered how quickly they’d see a new house-elf head mounted on the wall. “She sent me to get you, threatened to send Kreacher up to freeze your toes off if you didn’t come down.”

“Well, thanks for saving my toes, then,” he giggled, proud when his brother laughed with him. The laughter was quiet - they had to be quiet, in this house.

“Do you want your present now?” Reggie asked, eyes big and a little shiny, still amused by Sirius. He always thought Sirius was funny. “It’s under my bed.”

Well, of course, he wanted his present now. Sirius grinned, wanting to run to Regulus's room; he stopped himself as a screech filled the air.

“Not yet,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Let’s have breakfast first. Then we can sneak off, yeah?”

Regulus nodded and then immediately turned to go down the stairs. The boys took turns running down the stairs quietly, slowing down only when a step creaked. It wouldn’t do to make noise, and running was not allowed at 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Ah, I see the little prince has finally joined us.”

Walburga Black would have been a beautiful woman if she wasn’t so cruel. She wore her dark hair high on her head and her skin was flawless. She had the same big dark eyes as her sons. Her mouth could have been a lovely shape if it wasn’t perpetually twisted into a sneer.

Sirius and Regulus stopped outside the dining hall, awaiting permission to enter. Three house-elves were serving tea and food. The large table could hold up to 20 people but this morning it was just Orion and Walburga. Orion Black had a similar disposition to his wife, though he tended to a different kind of temper. Orion might spell a belt - his wife was more methodical than that. He was tall and severe, his features chiseled in contrast to his wife’s more delicate bone structure. He had a strong jawline, which was often clenched in anger or frustration. He was not a kind man. But, then, Sirius knew very few kind men.

Orion sat at the head of the long black table. Walburga sat on his right.

“Come in, my sons,” he finally said, hands spreading over the table on either side of his plate. “It is well past the time for waking. Sirius, you should have been up already. You’re eleven now, you should act like.”

“Yes, Father,” Sirius said as he and Regulus joined the table. Sirius sat on Orion’s left, as the child heir, and Regulus sat next to him. Eventually, he knew, this seating arrangement would change. Once he was of age, he would take his mother’s place and then eventually his father’s place as head of the house of black.

Would he be as severe-looking then, too? As fearsome?

Breakfast was - not appetizing. A large plate sat in the middle of the table and on top of it was -

“Mother,” Regulus spoke up, staring at the large, strangely-coloured thing on the table. “What is that?”

“It is an octopus,” she sniffed as a house-elf began to slice the creature. Sirius’s nose wrinkled before he caught sight of his father watching him. He corrected himself with a sniff. “It is quite the delicacy, everyone is talking of it in my literature circles.”

“Yes, it was expensive, if I recall,” Orion said. No one dared even touch a fork before Orion got served. He looked to his oldest son, a shadow of a smile gracing his mouth. There was no warmth in the expression.

“To the heir of the House of Black,” he said, nodding in Sirius’s direction.

“To Sirius Black,” Regulus and Walburga said.

“Thank you, father,” Sirius said. The boy dug his nails into his thigh to keep himself from grimacing at the octopus on his plate. “Toujours Pur.”

Seeming pleased, Orion nodded again and then picked up his knife and fork. The boys shared a look as they each poked and prodded at the main dish - it squished.

“Eat,” came their mother’s shrill voice. “Or there will be no dinner tonight.”

It wasn’t an uncommon punishment but it was Sirius’s birthday; this meant a party with other purebloods. Sirius’s cheeks inflamed at the thought of the humiliation.

The octopus was awful. Both children looked ready to throw up at the first bite. Orion was disinterested - he quickly finished his food and left without a word for his study. Walburga remained at the table, watching her sons with sharp eyes.

“Every bite.”

The boys obliged.

*

After breakfast, a house-elf laid a letter on the table at Sirius’s elbow. It took everything in him to not snatch it and run upstairs. He looked up at his mother, who had lost interest in watching her sons. She had moved on to scolding one of the house-elves. Sirius glanced at Regulus’s plate - it was still half full. His brother’s face was miserable. Sirius swallowed hard before taking the meat and shoving all of it into his mouth. Frantic, he nodded towards his mother. Regulus, eyes wide with admiration, quickly excused both of them from the table.

“Be back before dinner. Dressed,” Walburga said with a wrinkled look at Sirius’s clothes. “If you look less than presentable, it's ten lashes. Each."

Both boys mumbled their understanding before leaving the room. They ran as fast as they could without bringing down another threat of punishment. Sirius was close to gagging on the octopus by the time they rounded the corner, out of sight.

“Bleurgh,” Sirius let the octopus drop out of his mouth and onto the floor with a disgusted face. “Why are birthday breakfasts always so awful?” he asked, scrubbing at his mouth with his sleeve. He didn’t worry about the partially-consumed whatever-it-was on the floor - a house-elf would clean it up. “Why can’t we have normal things - like eggs. Or waffles.”

“I don’t like eggs very much,” Regulus chirped. His toe poked at the pile of meat with an expression of curiosity and disgust.

“Come on, let’s go upstairs,” Sirius said, pulling on Regulus’s dress robes. He was always dressed up to standards, these days. One too many whipping spells. Sirius hadn’t grown out of that yet. “I wanna open my letter,” he looked excited as he held up the letter with a red scrawling script.

Regulus gasped, eyes wide. “Is that it?”

Grinning, Sirius nodded and raced past Regulus. He avoided the creaks in the stairs. They changed position every week or so - likely to give Walburga an excuse to give a good slashing spell.

Regulus’s room was a mirrored copy of Sirius’s. Same large bed, same wardrobe. Only his windows didn’t face the rising sun - he just always woke up at exactly the right time. Unless Sirius came in to bother him, that is.

“Here,” Regulus whispered as he closed the door. They always whispered, even when well away from their parents. The nine-year-old ran to a drawer and pulled out a box wrapped in shiny green paper. “But I wanna see the letter first, please, Sirius?”

Well, he could hardly deny his little brother that. Sirius and Regulus scrambled onto the bed. Sirius paused, biting his lip. “You open it,” he said, handing it to Regulus. The boy’s wide dark eyes somehow got even wider and he looked absolutely worshipful as he looked at the letter.

“Really?” he asked, hushed. Sirius nodded and Regulus took the letter. If Sirius had opened it, he would have ripped it open and probably torn the letter in the process. Regulus, however, was careful as he broke the wax seal and gently pulled out the letter. He gave it to Sirius but kept the envelope, finger tracing over the red ink and the pretty seal.

“Well, there we have it,” Sirius said, unfolding the letter. “I’m officially a student at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.” It wasn’t all that exciting, really. He always knew this - he and Reg came from the noble house of Black - of course, they’d be going to Hogwarts. Both boys had been showing signs of magic for years. They would go to Hogwarts and they would be Slytherins and they would make the Black name proud.

It’s what they had always been told.

“Wow,” Regulus said softly, looking at the letter like it was holy. And then he got quiet, looking down at the seal and running his fingers over it. “Sir’us?” he asked, not looking up. “Does this mean you won’t be here anymore?”

Sirius paused, glancing at his little brother. To him, the chance to escape the quiet - and his parents - was more than enough reason to off to school. Not to mention Quidditch. He couldn’t wait for the year to pass so he could finally leave.

“I’ll write to you every week,” he said, nudging Regulus. “And you have to write me back, too, okay?”

Sullen, Regulus nodded but didn’t look up.

“Hey, I thought you had a birthday present for me,” Sirius said, scrambling up his knees and holding out his hand. He placed his other hand over his eyes. “Regulus Black, I request the birthday present immediately.”

Regulus giggled at Sirius’s overly formal voice, even posher than usual.

“Here,” he said, mirroring Sirius’s posture and placing the box in his hand. Regulus turned shy, picking at his fingernails. “I hope you like it.”

Excited, Sirius ripped off the paper and opened the box. Inside was a shiny black ring. It didn’t have anything on it - just a black band trimmed with silver. Sirius stared at the ring, grinning immediately. He put it on and watched as it fit his finger.

“It will always fit,” Regulus said. “Do you like it?”

Sirius looked up from the ring, grinning and -

“Boys!” a screech filled the room, echoing. Both Black boys cringed, stuffing fingers into their ears. “Lessons are in half an hour. If you are not downstairs and dressed properly, it’ll be slashes for both of you.”

The voice and the ringing stopped. Regulus’s expression had collapsed, sighing. He hated lessons.

“Hey, I really really like it,” Sirius said, punching his shoulder lightly. “How’d you do it?”

“I asked Cissy to do it before she went back to Hogwarts,” he shrugged, looking more hopeful. “I had to give her all my chocolate frogs.”

“I’ll get you more,” Sirius said, sliding the ring on his finger. “I’m never taking it off, Reggie.”

“Really?” Regulus grinned as Sirius nodded. “Happy Birthday, Sir’us.”

Sirius just smiled and pushed his brother. He was pushed back - they went back and forth like this until they ended up on the floor, giggling and laughing madly.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

January 30th, 1971

Today was the day. Lily Evans was finally eleven years old which meant -

Petunia entered her room with a large, tossing an opened letter onto her bed. Petunia was almost thirteen and had all the awkward lankiness to show it. She was like a reed, sharp and hard and unforgiving. It wasn't always like that, though. Petunia used to laugh with Lily and stay up late with her. Ever since Sev told Lily she was a witch, things had changed.

Lily sat up, frowning as she took up the letter. Oh.

“Why did you open it?” she asked, turning big green eyes to her sister. “It’s mine.”

“It’s weird,” Petunia said, frowning. “What’s Hogwarts, anyway? A school for people who -”

“Yeah, like me, Pet,” Lily said, reading over the letter. “Like me and Sev and lots and lots of other children.” She jumped out of bed, crossing her arms, red hair flying everywhere. “You shouldn’t have opened it.”

“I’m older than you, I can do what I like,” Petunia sniffed, looking at the letter with a frown. Lily wouldn’t recognize it as jealousy. She only saw a sister who hated her ever since Severus told her she was different. “Especially when it has to do with -”

“Get out,” Lily said, trying to stay calm. “I don’t want to see you. It’s my birthday and you’ve already ruined the best thing about it so just go!” She crossed her arms, looking daggers at her sister. Petunia sniffed, tossing her head as she left the room.

Lily sat down on her bed, expression softening. She smoothed out the letter, read it three times, and then got dressed for the day. Her parents greeted her with wide smiles and tea for breakfast. They gave her birthday kisses and said how excited they were for her to be going to school. She’d always been an odd baby - things just seemed to happen when she was around. Not too long ago, her parents had received a letter explaining witches and wizards and magic. Lily hadn’t had the heart to tell them she already knew.

Lily’s parents were the kindest, sweetest people she knew. Her mother was a round woman with soft features and pretty brown hair. She always made tea for her daughters after school and helped with school work. Her father was tall and reedy like Petunia but had Lily’s shocking red hair. It was starting to grey at the temples. Mr. Evans did something at the factory in town but he wasn’t a worker - he was more important than that. Lily wasn’t sure what, though - probably to do with money. Her mother never worked as far as Lily knew. She was there in the mornings and the evenings - reliable and steady.

Lily hoped she could be exactly like her.

“I’m going to see if Sev is about,” Lily said when she’d finished with breakfast. She ignored Petunia’s look. Severus had gotten his letter a few weeks before, on his birthday. Lily had already seen it, but now they could read them together.

“Be back for dinner, dear, we have family coming over,” her father said kindly. Lily nodded, taking a few sandwiches from the table and wrapping them.

“Remember, not a word about -”

“We know, Lily-bell,” her mother said, just as kind as her father. She said the words with a look to Petunia, who looked down quickly. “It’ll be our secret.”

“I’ll see you tonight!” Lily called as she slipped on shoes and ran out the door to the park near her house. It’s where she and Severus agreed to meet, on her birthday. He had wanted to meet at dawn but LIly had laughed and said she wanted to eat and have breakfast with her family, first. It was a Saturday and she still had school for the rest of the year. Severus didn’t understand why she still went.

“Because I have friends there, silly!” she had said when he brought it up again on his birthday. “I like school.”

“Hogwarts’ll be better,” he had said, lowering his head so far that his hair covered his face.

Lily did not doubt that, but she still wanted to go. She would have to tell everyone that she was transferring schools and wouldn’t see them anymore. It would be sad - but she knew she would make so many new friends in just a few months.

“Lily,” she heard her name called at the edge of the park, away from the swings and the jungle gym. Lily grinned, running over to sit by him and brandishing her letter and some sandwiches.

Severus Snape was Lily’s age, though he looked younger. His hair was always straggly and his clothes never seemed to fit or match. Lily noticed he tried to stay out of his home as much as possible. And, no matter the weather, he always wore jumpers.

On days when she could see him, Lily always brought sandwiches.

“Here,” she passed over the sandwiches, ignoring his look. “I got my letter!” she whispered, excited. “Look, look.”

“Yes!” Snape cheered, looking like he wanted to throw his arms around her. He stopped himself but looked even more excited than she did. “You’ll be in Slytherin with me, I know it.”

Lily rolled her eyes, taking back one of the sandwiches. “I don’t know, Sev, sleeping in the dungeons sounds scary. I was thinking Ravenclaw? I would love to be in a tower. I could see the sunrise and the sunset from up high. And all the grounds! Or maybe Gryffindor -”

“No,” he said, voice sharp as he frowned. “Not Gryffindor.” Lily looked at him with an exasperated expression, rolling her eyes. “Not Gryffindor,” he insisted again. “I'd be okay with Ravenclaw, but - you should be in Slytherin, with me.”

“It won’t matter what house I’m in, silly,” she giggled, shaking her head. “I’ll be at school with you. We’ll have classes together and we can go to the library and Hogsmeade - it’ll be so much fun, no matter what!”

“Yeah,” he conceded, though the thought of Gryffindor still made him upset. Lily didn’t know why - the only thing she didn’t want was to have to sleep in a dark dungeon. She wanted to see the sun!

“You’ll have to tell me about all this stuff,” she said, indicating the list of supplies. “I won’t know where to get them.”

“Can your parents take us to Diagon Alley?” he asked. “I can tell them how to get there. We’ll go together and get all our stuff and -”

“Okay,” she nodded happily. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Good. Oh,” Severus reached into his pocket and produced a cardboard box. “Happy birthday, Lily.”

Lily took the box with a smile, opening the top and gasping. A green jeweled beetle flew out and attached itself to her lapel. A pin. It was beautiful.

“Thanks, Sev,” she said, leaning in to give him a big hug. Severus froze, unsure of what to do, and couldn’t respond before she moved away. Lily pulled her shirt away from her so she could look at the beetle. “It’s beautiful.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 10th, 1971

When Remus Lupin woke up, it was to shouting outside his room.

The boy sat up, listening hard to his parents' voices. He could hear things other kids didn’t usually hear - like when they talked about moving again.

This time, they weren’t talking about moving.

Remus got out of bed and crept to the door. He wore a thin shirt with holes in it and a tattered pair of sweatpants. It was hard for him to keep his clothes intact and he grew so much every year. His parents could hardly keep up.

“What does he want, Lyall?” his mother was whispering. “What if he -”

“I don’t know,” he replied - and then said one of those words that Remus wasn’t allowed to say. A spell. Remus opened his door, slipping through the smallest crack. “But he won’t be coming in.”

“Mr. Lupin,” a quiet voice said from the end of the hall. Remus froze, staring with wide eyes at the old man. He was tall and his beard was grey and long. He looked like the wizards from Remus’s storybooks. He couldn’t reply. “I hear it’s your birthday,” the old man continued. Out of nowhere, a tin of biscuits appeared and Remus was offered the whole thing. “I thought I might bring you a present.”

“Th-thank you, sir,” he said. “Um, thank you, Mr. -”

“Dumbledore,” the man said, voice low. “You can call me Professor Dumbledore. Do you want to sit at the fire? Play a game of gobstones?”

His parents were still whispering at the door, sounding frightened. What were they so frightened of?

Remus nodded, stuffing a biscuit into his mouth. “‘Kay.”

Professor Dumbledore smiled and they went to the fireplace. There were gobstones set out from the day before. Lyall had agreed to play with Remus after he got frustrated over his maths. It had calmed Remus enough then - maybe it would calm down his father?

“Do you know about Hogwarts?” Dumbledore asked, producing another tin of biscuits for himself. “Have they told you?”

Remus shrugged, setting up the game. “A little. Da says I’ll have to learn magic from him probably. Too dangerous.” He blushed, looking down. He wasn’t supposed to talk about it.

“Remus, you have to -” his father’s voice stopped and Remus looked up, chocolate crumbs on his face. “Professor.” Lyall looked defeated and sad, glancing between them. “We weren’t - we didn’t think you’d be coming here.”

Lyall and Hope Lupin had finally stepped away from the front door - only to find Remus and the wizard sitting at their fireplace. Lyall was a tall, tall man, with Remus’s curly golden brown hair and deep brown eyes. He had brown skin and the demeanor of someone who sat desks a lot - all bad posture and long limbs. His wife was small and blonde and pretty, her eyes blue and her skin pale and freckly. Remus looked like his father, he knew, but he wished he had his mother’s eyes.

Hope went to Remus and smoothed his hair, looking at Lyall with a strange expression on her face. “He gave me biscuits,” Remus said, offering one to his mother. She took it, her smile shaky.

“How about we go to your room, hm? You need your rest.” Hope took Remus’s hand and brought him to his room. He wasn’t allowed to eat the whole tin of biscuits, even when he pouted. His mother wouldn’t tell him what was happening or why the tall wizard man was there.

Remus strained to hear the conversation in the other room, curious.

“If you’re here to give Remus his letter, I’m afraid -”

“I already know about Remus, Lyall,” the stranger’s voice said. Professor Dumbledore. It was exactly like a storybook. “I have my own contacts with dark creatures.”

Remus winced. He hated that word.

“Then you already know,” his father said carefully. “There is no possibility of him going to Hogwarts. I will be teaching him myself when I can.”

“Lyall, I have put forward arrangements for young Remus. To make sure he could go to school.”

School? He could go to school? Remus was frozen, staring at the wall as he concentrated. He must have heard wrong.

“...kind of arrangements?” his father asked, wary. “He’s - he’s a child now, but he’s getting stronger.”

“I see no reason that should be an issue, Lyall. We have taken over a residence near Hogsmeade and grown a Whomping Willow.”

“A Whomping Willow? Those are -”

“Dangerous, yes, but hardly out of place. It’ll keep the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack a secret - and the rumours about the place will keep people at bay. As will our protective spells and a secret tunnel. He will be as safe and comfortable as possible.”

“You - you would do that?”

“Madam Pomfrey has already agreed to take care of him after the moons. He will be in the very best of hands.”

“Headmaster, I - that is very kind, but there is still - werewolves are, they’re demonized. If anyone were to find out -”

“It will be yet another of Hogwarts’ great secrets, Mr. Lupin,” the other man replied. “No one will know. And I’m sure Remus is of an age that he can understand the importance of keeping that secret.”

He couldn’t keep still any longer. With more speed than a normal eleven-year-old, Remus rushed out of his room to his father and Dumbledore.

“I can do it, Da,” he said, rushed as his mother called for him from the hall. “I won’t say a word about it. I’ll keep up with my studies and I won’t be a bother. Please? I want to make friends. Mum?” he turned to his mother, soft brown eyes wide and pleading. “Please mum?”

Dumbledore, to his credit, did not say a word as the Lupins looked at each other. They were exchanging some kind of secret language. Remus had seen this before, many times, especially when he was in trouble or had done something bad.

But he wouldn’t. He would be the very best student in Hogwarts history if it meant getting to go to school.

“Alright,” Lyall nodded. They'd made a decision. Hope’s mouth thinned but she said nothing, only went to squeeze Remus’s shoulder. “We can try. But if there is any danger, any trouble at all -”

“We will do everything to protect Remus, Mr. Lupin,” Dumbledore interrupted. Smiling, he produced a letter with red ink, a seal, and Remus’s name. “Here you are, Remus. I shall see you again in the fall.” Dumbledore nodded to each of his parents before disappearing with a loud crack. Remus stared, wide-eyed, before looking down at the letter.

“Well,” Hope breathed out, fingers smoothing Remus’s hair nervously. “Let’s open that letter, hm?” She glanced at Lyall, who in turn suppressed his own fear and worry to kneel next to his son.

“Promise you’ll be a good boy for Professor Dumbledore and the rest of your teachers?”

Remus nodded hard, hair flopping this way and that. He carefully opened the letter, grinning. “I promise,” he said, reading the letter with care. “I’ll be the best-behaved student in all of Hogwarts history.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

March 27th, 1960

“James! An owl for you.” The voice carried up the stairs to James’s room, who in turn woke up and sprung immediately to his feet. He knew what the letter said, of course, he did. It held his entire future in it. Hogwarts and classes and Quidditch and -

“Slow down!” his mother laughed, nearly tripping over him on the stairs. “James Potter, I thought I taught you better than to run in the house.” She tutted, attempting to smooth down the boy’s wild hair. It was pointless.

“Sorry, mum,” he said, leaning up to kiss her cheek. Euphemia Potter was the epitome of a mother. Thick wavy hair was usually pulled back into a bun and she had a soft form that was perfect for hugs. She was kind and sweet and generous; she always made sure there was room for anyone who needed it. James loved her more than anyone in the world.

“Oh, go to the kitchen, then. Your father has the letter, I’ll join you for tea in a moment.” She gestured to the pile of laundry the house-elf, Yara, was levitating up the staircase. “No more running!”

James laughed as he descended the rest of the stairs at a normal pace - mostly. He jogged into the kitchen, smiling as the scents of baked goods hit him full force.

“My boy,” his father grinned, setting down the Daily Prophet and gesturing James to him. Fleamont Potter looked like James, only older and rounder and greyer. His glasses were small on his nose and his dark hair had streaks of grey. He still held the same mischievous look he had when he was a child - a look that had been passed onto James. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks, Dad,” he grinned, jumping up and down, wild dark hair bouncing with him. He pushed his glasses further up his nose and glanced around. “The letter?”

“Here,” Fleamont produced the letter from under his paper. He started to hand it over - and then jerked his wrist away. James pouted but knew it was more of a game than anything. “Promise to behave for your mother today?”

James nodded hard, the pout melting into a wide smile. Unable to deny his son any longer, Fleamont passed over the envelope. “Sit down, we’ll have tea until your mother comes back.”

“And then breakfast?” he asked, climbing up into a chair. He was almost big enough to touch the ground. “And then Quidditch and lunch.”

“Alright,” his father smiled. It wouldn't be a long game - his hip liked to act up. He could leave the magicked Quidditch set on its own and do some of his famous colour-commentary. “If you’d like.”

James didn’t answer, he was too busy reading the letter. “Can I have an owl?” he asked, looking up. “A big one?”

“What about Winifred?” his mother asked as she swept into the kitchen. “You could take her.” She and Fleamont shared a wink that went right over James’s head.

“But -” he was stopped by the look his father gave him. Taking a breath, James nodded. “Winifred will be fine, thank you, mum.” Though, really, he wanted a new owl. A great big black one.

Euphemia bit down a smile. Yara started serving breakfast and, in an attempt to make himself even more well-behaved, James jumped off the chair and joined her. Fleamont and Euphemia shared an amused look.

“We’ll go to Diagon Alley this summer for your supplies. Do you still have that broom Aunt Laura gave to you last year?”

“Yes, mum,” James said as he gingerly placed a plate of bacon on the table. “I use it nearly every day.”

“Mm, might be worn out by the time you go to Hogwarts, then,” his father said, picking up his newspaper to hide his smile.

James knew better than to push the issue of a new broom, much as he wanted one. He clambered back onto his chair and waited, trying to look patient despite his swinging legs.

“Happy birthday, James,” his mother said, pouring him tea. “I’m sure you will have a wonderful time at Hogwarts. Are you excited?”

James nodded, thinking of all the friends he would make. As it was, he knew a few of the pureblood families - rather unkind ones. He was most excited to meet new people, though. Especially muggle-borns. What a funny world they live in, muggles.

“You’ll be kind to everyone, won’t you?” Euphemia asked, looking only mildly concerned. She had never known her son to be mean or cruel, but she knew how Hogwarts could get. “Even to Slytherins?”

James sighed, digging into his eggs and bacon. “Yes, mum,” he said through a full mouth. “I solemnly swear to be kind to everyone.”

“Good lad,” Fleamont nodded, enjoying his own breakfast. “Now eat up. We have a game of Quidditch to play.”

James grinned through his breakfast, shoved it all into his face, and made a mad dash for the back door.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

June 15th, 1960

Peter Pettigrew was not looking forward to today.

Oh, he was looking forward to his birthday. There would be letters and presents. And cake.

The problem was, he didn’t think he would get one letter in particular.

Everyone Peter knew was a witch or wizard. They were powerful - his mother could clean the whole house in a matter of half an hour due to magic. His cousins were all at Hogwarts, they had proven themselves at an early age to be magical. Flying chairs and levitating toys.

Peter never did any of those things.

He thought he might be a squib.

It certainly disappointed his mother, who had been giving him more and more looks as his eleventh birthday grew closer. It made him sad. He wanted to go to Hogwarts. He wanted to show them that he was just as much of a wizard as the rest of them.

He hoped it would stop his cousin’s from hexing him at every family holiday. If they knew he could hex right back, it would stop.

Peter Pettigrew was a short and stout boy. He had round rosy cheeks and thin blonde hair. His eyes were pale blue and his teeth looked something like a rat’s teeth. He kept chocolates in his drawer and Quidditch mags under his pillow. He knew every stat of every team and even had a broom in his wardrobe.

He hadn’t been able to make it fly, yet.

The boy could hardly sleep so he waited until sunrise to get up and start his day. He dressed with deliberate slowness, keeping one eye on the window in case an owl came swooping by. He hadn’t seen anything by the time he made his way to the kitchen, where he snuck a few biscuits. It was warm out this morning, being mid-July, so Peter went outside to do his daily ritual - staring at rocks in an attempt to make them levitate.

Peter laid out five rocks in a row, all of various weights and shapes. Once he was satisfied with that, he stepped back and focused on each one. He stared at the first one, so hard that his face turned red. Nothing. The boy took a breath and then moved on to the next rock, this one slightly smaller. Again, nothing. Then again. And again. Each time he failed, Peter felt worse, his face got redder, and his head was hurting more and more.

By the time he got to the last rock, Peter Pettigrew was furious. He glared at the rock, frowning hard. “Move, you cunt!” he yelled.

It moved.

Peter gasped, mouth hanging open and eyes wide. He’d done it! He moved the rock! He wasn’t a squib at all! He would go to Hogwarts, he would show them all. His mother couldn’t look at him like that anymore. He would get a job at the ministry, like his grandad, and he would be the best wizard Hogwarts had ever seen.

He knew it.

The hoot of an owl reached him. His head shot up so fast that his neck cracked - and then he saw it.

Bilby the owl. With a letter from Hogwarts.


End file.
